Angela's Trial and Tribulations (3 page)

The guards talked amongst themselves and their bosses heard. Their supervisor came down on the Friday to see this strange girl who worked so hard without the whip. He watched her for an hour then went back to his office. He in turn told his boss, and eventually it came to the ears of the mayor, the man who had ultimate control over the whole works program. He made a note to go and have a look. Not today, he was too busy, today, but he would, in time.

In the meantime, Angela was allocated to other duties. These were many and varied but all were designed to humiliate the women and to extract every last ounce of shame from them while making them perform tasks that were less than useful. The electric motor that had previously ran the brook, for example, was a lot cheaper than the wages of the guards who had to supervise the female prisoners. And the road-making detail. It too could be performed much better by machine than by the girls. But it was all so shameful.

But what is more important, it worked. Since this program had been in place, not a single female had erred again. Nor was it likely they would for a second offence meant a life term.

Angela was allocated to road repair duties for her second week. She joined the group of five other girls who had to move into the depot proper and take charge of the old-fashioned tar trolley, complete with oil fire under the pot, and push it out onto the road and along to the suburban streets they were to repair. The trolley was cast iron and equally as heavy as the capstan had been. Furthermore, it was dangerous work. Hot tar has to be handled with extreme care and never without protective clothing. These girls were naked. Stark naked. No shoes and no aprons to protect the fronts of their slender female bodies.

They pushed it with great care, aware of the molten tar in the pot and that one false move could have it all over them. Tarring and feathering indeed! The guards were considerate, as long as the girls kept the trolley moving but when they reached the first pot hole, out came the whips and the girls had to slog to dig out the muck in the hole and then fill it with the mixture of tar and aggregate then tamp it down with the heavy tamping tool. Then it was on to the next hole. All day, from dawn to dusk, just as with the waterfall at the park.

Now too, men came to watch and stare and call out to the guards to lash them into harder effort. There seemed to be a preponderance of sadists amongst those who came to watch the girls slave just as the men who came at night would have been those who in former times, attended strip shows and the more salacious cinemas on the strip.

Angela worked hard once more. She pushed the trolley as hard as she could and the other girls and women appreciated she was trying hard. They formed a liking for the shy girl who seemed so out of place amongst them.

Her body quickly responded to her efforts. As an athlete she had pushed it hard at training and at meets but now that she was a full-time labourer and the demands being made on her muscles were much harder than those placed on any male labourer in the past, they reacted as muscles always do when demands are made on them. They grew and they became toned to the nth degree.

The stories about her spread once more and again the mayor got to hear about her. He had forgotten his resolve to go and check on this young girl but now he made a note on his electronic diary to do so. The next day he went down in his gig to see for himself.

The gig is a new development that is used by high-ranking men in the public domain. So far, since females are only allowed out naked as a punishment by the state, no private person has been able to use one for his personal transport but municipal and state officers who so desire it (who qualify for it and who have the time to indulge in the relatively slow perambulation it affords) may avail themselves of its obvious delights.

The gig is drawn by a pony-girl. One of the prisoners is allocated to each official entitled to the privilege and she is harnessed to her gig for the whole day - and night if he needs her services then. She then has to walk, trot and gallop him around the city while he sits in the beautifully upholstered seat and stares forward at her naked back and buttocks and legs as she moves.

Now he mounted his gig and curtly ordered his steed, a beautiful black girl to an address in the suburbs. It would be a four mile journey and it would tax her body but he didn't mind. He liked to see a bit of sweat on her beautiful black skin. Off she went and he quickly ordered her to get up to a fast trot. He would make her gallop for a while later on but for now the trot was enough.

He sat back and admired her svelte flesh. He knew it intimately as he used her as and when he wished. This too was his privilege. Women no longer had the right to expect fidelity from their husbands and he could even demand they stay and watch as he enjoyed the body of a female servant or, if he had one allocated to him, a prisoner. James Swift, mayor of the city, had this privilege. He had this girl attached to his household so she was always available when he needed her. She was also available for his bed and he used her often. He delighted in her black flesh and satin skin. He loved her long black hair and flashing black eyes and he liked her fiery spirit for it then allowed him to put her across his knees for a sound spanking before she finally submitted to his advances. He didn't make his wife watch. Indeed he usually sent her out of the house on some pretext. He didn't have to do this but he loved her and if he enjoyed the black wench, well, that was just a little fling.

Now, though, he stopped the gig, admiring as he always did the sweat-streaked naked flesh of his pony-girl for a few moments before hopping down to join the guard supervising the road repair gang. He greeted the guard by name and then watched the four girls for a minute or so. “That her?” he asked, pointing to Angela.

“That's her, Mr Mayor,” replied the guard. Angela was already something of a legend. No other girl prisoner had hoed into her work, been so uncomplaining and retained her dignity as well as this girl who was still only nineteen years old.

James stood and watched, his eyes taking in the dirty, sweaty body and particularly its lithe slender curves, her fine silver-blonde hair (also dirty now but he could see the fineness beneath the filth), her violet eyes and above all her apparent dedication to her work. She was digging out the muck from a pot hole as if her life depended on it. The pick was flying, her muscles cording and flexing wonderfully and her breasts wobbling beautifully as she raised her body at each stroke. She wasn't even aware the city's first citizen was standing there, watching her intently.

He was immediately taken with her forlorn beauty but he was also most impressed with her endeavour. It was obvious she was working as hard as she knew how and every one of her beautiful muscles was straining to its utmost. He stood and watched her for an hour and on the way back to his office he stared pensively at the back of his pony. But he didn't see her. In her stead he saw that beautiful young girl and he imagined her between the poles of his gig. He began to plan.

Chapter 3

 

 

Angela's next duty allocation was as a street sweeper. This was one of the easier tasks available but it meant the women's bodies were all the more open to the gaze of passers- by in the streets as they pushed the huge brooms up and down the gutters next to the pavements. Angela hated it more than the heavier jobs because of this. She was closer to the public and more than one man got his hand down on her breasts or vagina before she could move off up the gutter or before the guard could arrive, for here there was one guard for six of them and since they were spread out up and down the long street, he couldn't be everywhere at once. There was no question of them escaping. Where could they go, naked as they were? Any male citizen would have been keen to arrest her and bring her back and his reward might well be the right to her body for an hour or so.

A group of young hoods always accompanied each girl as she worked the broom up the gutters. Their comments were scandalous - or would have been in another age.

“Open them legs for me, sweetie. Want to feel my big dick up there, eh?”

“No, spread, them buttocks for me dearie. I'd rather fuck you up your arse ...” or, “How'd you like to suck me off, darling?” and the like. What with the constantly seeking hands and the filthy suggestions, she felt like dissolving into tears every five minutes. She learned to ignore them and shy off from their questing fingers and she never complained to the guard as he made his rounds as the other girls did.

The men who were accompanying her were amazed. The girls always complained and the guards usually shooed the men off, at least in the short term. This one didn't say a word but smiled at the guard when he asked her if all was well and told him things were all right.

They fell silent after the guard left. They still followed her but they kept their hands to themselves and they ceased to goad her with obscene suggestions. She was beautiful and they delighted in her beauty. They also fell under her spell - a power she didn't even know she had. First it was the guards, then the mayor and now the young bucks who hung around the naked municipal prisoners.

Angela went on with her work, oblivious of the confusion she was causing in all quarters. The other prisoners knew there was something different about her; the guards watched her in astonishment as she absorbed without complaint all the dreadful treatment handed out to these women; the mayor watched in wry amusement from on high; while the public gradually came to know of this strange naked young girl who seemed to be able to rise above the most terrible penal system ever devised on Earth.

A week later and she received yet another work allocation. This time, her gang of twelve women were sent to the centre of the city. They had been harnessed to the tourist cart that was used to show visitors the city sights. The cart boasted bench seats and a light awning over its top. It could accommodate twenty passengers at a time and it was thus very hard work for the women to haul it through the streets for the eight hours it ran. At least now though, she thought, I am with eleven others. I am but one of a large group. I won't be subjected to comment and fingering. In this she was wrong. For while the passengers might not have so indulged, the pedestrians who waited at the lights as they crossed most certainly did and some even made bold to dart in and cop a feel of her breasts before the driver saw and flicked his whip at the man or boy. Still, it wasn't as bad as the capstan and not nearly as bad as the street-sweeping detail. She would cope as she always had by ignoring the comments and driving her body as hard as she could.

The reports continued to come back to Mayor Swift. He was pleased. He had made up his mind now and in a few short weeks, he would act on his decision.

In the meantime, Angela dealt in her own way with her trials and tribulations. At night she stood under the battering hose and cleaned her naked body down while dozens of males who had paid for the privilege watched lecherously. Then she got down on her hands and knees and ate the swill they fed them from the feeding troughs, again while the men strolled up and down the gallery, watching them all. And last, she learned to put on the obscene sex display without even thinking about what she was doing. During her performance, she recited tables and favourite pieces of poetry to herself. She had thought of saying prayers to herself but thought it not appropriate while all the obscenities were going on around her.

Mayor Swift came down to watch her at this too. He wanted to understand this girl. This paragon who had everybody talking about her. He even called on her parents.

After the introductions he came straight down to it. “You may not approve of the new laws, Mr Martin, but they are here and we must make the best of them... What I am trying to understand is how your girl can rise above it all as she does. Every other woman or girl who has been sentenced under this system either breaks down or rebels and then has to be beaten into submission. Your girl seems to be able to lift her spirit above her physical problems and almost pretend they aren't there.”

“Perhaps, Mr Mayor, it is because we have taught her to do her best at whatever she has to do wherever she finds herself.”

“I see. Well perhaps that is what it is. I am considering taking her under my wing for the rest of her term with us... How do you think she will cope with such an appointment?”

Tom Martin looked at the city's head official carefully. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

The mayor smiled. “Come, Mr Martin, you know as well as I do that under the new laws, that is very much what I mean. However, I feel something in this girl. Something very very special. Whilst I may wish to take her as you so carefully suggest, I probably won't. I won't deny that she will first serve as my pony-girl and I won't deny either that I may well take her to my bed but as I say I may not. I want to take this girl into my household for another reason - to watch how she develops and then, very possibly, appoint her to my staff when her term is up...”

“You really mean it, don't you?” said Angela's father. “Well, I won't deny either that we think she is special but that is natural for parents...”

“Mr Martin, the whole city is talking about your girl. No matter who taunts her or touches her, she retains an almost beatific expression on her face and she works harder than any girl we have ever had on the program. She didn't even report some young hoods who were pestering her on one duty.”

“Um, no, I suppose she wouldn't. We always said make the best of whatever comes your way and don't complain...”

The mayor looked at the man narrowly. Could this fellow be real in this day and age? He decided the man was decidedly odd but held out his hand and shook the other's warmly. He was still a vote.

“Mr Mayor, I hope it all works out...”

Work out it did, at least for the mayor. His pony-girl finished her time a week later and Angela found herself taken to the mayor's official residence. She was brought into his presence and stood there in his study before his desk while the most powerful man in the city looked her up and down.

“I have decided that you are to be my new pony-girl ...” “Yes, sir.”

“Do you know what that involves, girl?”

“Only that I will be harnessed to one of those new gigs and have to pull you around?”

“That is correct. You will also be available to me for other purposes ...” He paused and looked at her carefully. “Do you know what I am talking about?” She didn't. She had no idea that prisoners could be used for anything but labour. She said so. “I see. Well, perhaps we may leave that until later.” The mayor wanted to tread very carefully with this girl. He already knew she was something out of the box and he had no wish to break something so exquisite.

He pressed a button on his desk and in a few moments there was a knock at the door and at his behest it opened to reveal another naked girl. This one was Asian, from Thailand and she was a lovely example of her most attractive race. “Mr Mayor?” she said in a tinkly voice.

“Jane, Take Angela out to the garage. Harness her to my gig and take her around to the front door.”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded to Angela who smiled at the mayor, turned and left his study, hard on the heels of the lovely naked girl in front of her.

“So, you're his latest?” said Jane. “It seems so.”

“I'm not surprised. You're quite lovely. He always chooses the most athletic girls. They're usually the best in bed.”

“In bed? I don't understand?”

The Thai girl stopped and turned towards the new pony girl. Her eyes were wide with astonishment. “You mean you don't know what else you have to do here... ? What I have to do at least once a week and sometimes more?”

Understanding dawned. Angela's face dropped. “Oh. He said something about ‘other purposes' but when I said I didn't know he mumbled something about seeing about that later.”

“My, he is being careful, well be warned. He is a good lover and he's quite nice to me in bed ...” Angela tried to take all this in. So she was now a sexual concubine to the mayor, as well as his pony-girl. She had never been promiscuous although she wasn't a virgin. There had been Peter, the boy she was sure she was going to marry - until he found someone else and dropped her like a hot potato, without as much as a goodbye... They had made love on three or four occasions but he hadn't been that all good and knew nothing of how to please a girl - not that that mattered much these days, of course. Well, if it had to be, she would make the best of it, as always, she thought.

They arrived in the garage and Jane pointed out the gig. “Bring it out. It doesn't take much to harness you in... Stand there between the poles, now, bend down and pick them up. See? I just buckle your forearms into these gauntlets on the end of each pole. They're tight, as you can see, and you won't get out of them but they also allow you to grip the handle at the end. All right, walk around. Let me see your gait.”

Angela found the weight very small after the terrible labour she had endured in her first four weeks and she stepped lively, making each step a production issue. Jane clapped admiringly. “You've got the hang of it first off. They like you ponies to be smart, just as you are. Keep your shoulders back and your breasts thrust out. Lift your knees high and keep your head up. Toss your head, just like a real pony would and don't try to hide what we used to call the private parts of our bodies and you'll do alright.”

Angela practised all the points Jane had mentioned and again received her applause. “All right, you're ready. Now remember. You are at his beck and call all day but he may not want you for hours. You may have to stand and wait, sometimes all day without him using you at all. When that happens, stand still and look beautiful. Don't fidget...”

Angela took all this in and acknowledged the other girl's help but then she had another question: “Jane, where do I sleep? I imagine, since I am to be available to him, that it will be here?”

“It is. We have a room of sorts, up in the attic under the roof. We even get to sleep on a bed even if it small and hard and narrow. It's better than the straw and the gawking males in the cages, though. We also get much better food. Cook isn't a prisoner but she looks after us and gives us the same food she gives the mayor and Mrs Swift. Right. Now around to the front. That's right, step lively, even when you think no-one is looking. There always is...”

Jane left her standing on the front drive under the porte cochere outside the front door. She stood there for an hour and then he emerged. “Do you know how to get to the town hall, Angela?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr Mayor.”

“Right. Take me there, please.”

She took off, down the sweeping circular drive and through the lovely gardens of his residence and out into the avenue, stepping as she had been advised in a high gait that looked good but she knew would tax her in time. He let her set her own pace this time. It was two miles to his office and he knew it would take her a while to adjust to this new workload, no matter how athletic she was.

Jane had been right in one thing. He always did choose the athletic types for his pony girls, for a number of reasons. Athletic girls were stronger and usually had more staying power for their role as ponies; they were always much better in bed; they looked good; and, most importantly, he loved to watch their fine muscles rippling and cording as they strained to pull his gig.

He felt his cock hardening as he watched her beautiful buttocks, thighs and back. He imagined spearing his long thick member in between those pert cheeks (since he couldn't see her vagina at the moment) and wondered how tight it would be. He also thought of caressing her lissom body, pulling it close to his in bed.

No! he thought. I must not think of such things. Not with this girl. She is a cut above the common herd, despite, not because of her parents. Perhaps later, but for now, I must content myself with Amanda and with the beautiful Jane. His mind wandered to the copper coloured body of his housemaid/prisoner and he sighed as he remembered their last encounter in bed. She was a little virago, that one, and although he kept himself very fit with an hour in the gym every day, he was no match for her, which was why he only took her once a week or thereabouts.